


Human Sexuality 101

by Rori_Teagan



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Clones, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori_Teagan/pseuds/Rori_Teagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>221B has become overrun with clones. Since technically they are _themselves_, it’s up to John and Sherlock to teach them everything. Everything</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Sexuality 101

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This can be read as a standalone, or you can get more here: amillien2one.wordpress.com/shjw2 for just 0.99 cents. Other works also available.

The question wasn’t how the clones came to be, or even how they came to be at _221b Baker Street_. Neither was it the more practical question of what were Sherlock and John supposed to do with them now that they were here.

John briefly checked in with Sherlock only to find the man using a magnifying glass to avidly examine every square inch of flesh of his own forearm that just so happened to be attached to another’s body, a bright (disturbingly) boyish grin fairly etched into his face, and amended that last thought. No, Sherlock clearly knew exactly what he wished to do with them. Best not to even consider that, really.

The only question that mattered was just how many years would John get for murdering Mycroft Holmes. He was something of the British Government’s one man data system, he’d probably be missed. But then, look, clones. Eight of them. Four eerily anatomically accurate John Watsons, down to the small birthmark in the shape of a backwards ‘c’ on his inner left thigh  and tendency for his cock to list right – and thanks Sherlock for confirming that – and four Sherlock Holmeses with perfectly in sync expressions of rapturous joy as they explored the flat around them with every… sense… Fuck.

“Christ! No! Don’t eat that!”

John exploded to his feet to snatch away a bottle of half-used floor cleanser from the hands of an overly eager Sherlock clone.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock #3 sniffed petulantly. “I was only going to taste it for traces of a citric based agent. It claims ‘lemon-fresh’ but considering the listed active ingredients, I have my doubts.”

Sherlock # 3 wandered off as John was still formulating a response. Sherlock #2 was giving the bottle a speculative look from over John’s shoulder.

“He’s correct, of course, there’s nothing even faintly reminiscent of lemon in that bottle. Not even a reasonable facsimile as in, cymbopogon, pelargonium crispum, perlargonium – “

Right. He knew teaching them how to read would come back to bite him in the arse.  So, yes, clones. Surely, murdering that bloody morally ambiguous meddling bastard Mycroft Holmes would be a civic duty.

\---

Two days after the clones arrived on their doorstep like misplaced orphan children, John realized what it was about them that concerned him most. Well, outside the Holmeses’ tendency to play (“Experimentation, Watson! Not playing!”) with illegal poisons. And the Watsons’ tendency to follow blindly behind the Holmeses with a rather disturbing disregard for personal safety.

The clones were physically adults, and while a little naïve (if the fact that they’d matured inside a laboratory to be ‘born’ fully grown a mere six months ago and had no experience with real world anything outside of textbooks and the brief trip between said laboratory and Baker Street qualified as a _little_ naïve) they were developmentally and emotionally functional adults as well. They all had their own personalities … with certain distinctive familiar quirks, yes, but they were indeed distinct individuals with clear personalities and dislikes and interests. And yet John and Sherlock were still referring to them as if they were mere shades of themselves, pale copies from a complicated, impressive press.

“If they’re going to stay, they need names. I can’t just keep calling them all by numbers.”

“Already done,” the original Sherlock said absently. He was reclined on the sofa, long legs hanging over one edge, head partially buried under a pillow. He came out just enough for his words not to be mumbled. “The four Watsons are Hamish, Harold, Harris, and Halford.”

John blinked.

Sherlock scowled lightly. “Given your persistent – and childish – refusal to reveal your middle name beyond the initial ‘H,’ I had to make do with popular baby names from England and Wales from 1974 through 1984 beginning with the aforementioned letter. It’s not as popular a letter as one might think, by the way. “

“And the Holmeses?”

“Acton, Fular with one ‘l’ and an ‘a’, Carlisle and Emersn without the ‘o’.”  

“Wow…those are…unexpected. And specific. Unexpectedly specific.”

“Together they compose the anagram for Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer. The process by which clones are created.”

“More expected. Well. Good. Glad that’s settled. So I suppose we’re keeping them then?”

Here Sherlock sat full up with a careful stare. “Why, Watson, what on Earth else would we do with them?”  

That decided, it soon became apparent that a two bedroom flat was much too small for ten grown adult men. Five of whom , while lean, towered at a good six plus feet and on good days were more chaotically, destructively active than a group of cabin-fevered toddlers. So they moved. To the country. Briefly.

It didn’t work out. Bees were involved.

John promptly decided it was best for all parties involved never to discuss that period in their lives ever again.

They moved back to Baker Street and with Mycroft’s financial assistance, the least the bastard could do, procured the entirety of 221 A-D from Mrs. Hudson. Luckily D was a four bedroom which Hamish and Halford could share with Fular and Emersn. Interestingly enough, the Holmeses would only flat share with Watsons and vice versa. Though they all got on well enough .

With the money from the sale Mrs. Hudson could afford to retire, though she did agree to hire on to tidy up once a week … though never the more overt messes the Holmeses got up to. Those were left to the Holmeses. Which was quite right, in John’s estimation.

Sherlock taught them the science of deduction…and other eccentric bits of knowledge that related to crime in some fashion. John taught them everything else. In particular, good habits, like balanced meals and the poisonous nature of tobacco. They surprisingly soaked everything up like massive human shaped sponges. Or a genius and an adaptable man of above average intelligence. Sherlock was an avid early riser and John more of the opinion ‘early to bed is a waste’ and it appeared to be genetic wiring for the Holmses and the Watsons each took after their respective donor, so they made sure to have group time in the evenings. After a while it was almost like having a really large family. Of man-children octuplets.

\---

It took three months for puberty to kick in.

The best John could say about the situation was at least they weren’t in the middle of a case at the time. Sherlock and John walked into their kitchen to find a frantic Harold with his trousers around his ankles and his pants tenting out obscenely. Standing in front of the open refrigerator. Shirtless.

“It won’t bleeding go down!” Harold scowled. His entire upper body was flushed with embarrassment. “And Acton won’t get out the sodding loo! The utter prick!”

Harold tended to be their swearer.

He scrambled to do up his trousers and bolted while their mouths were still dropped. John was too shocked to appreciate the unflappable Sherlock Holmes flapped.

The front door slamming shut shook them out of it.

Sherlock coughed, cleared his throat. Coughed again. Finally, “it was only a matter of time. They’re nearly a year old chronologically but mid-thirties developmentally. We couldn’t expect them to remain sexless forever. Even I went through a …very thorough sexual awakening during adolescence. We’ll have to do something about it soon.”

John took a moment – dazed – to consider Sherlock Holmes as a sexual being. It was surprisingly appealing. He was probably methodical. And imagine a lover that could anticipate your every want because he could _deduce_ it.

John blinked himself back to reality, feeling faintly flush himself.

“Why do we have to do anything about it? Why can’t they figure it out for themselves like every other bloke before them?”

Sherlock gave him an odd look. “Watson, half of them are you. And half of them are me. With the life experiences of an infant trapped in an adult’s body with an adult’s mind and wants.”

John’s own determination to not back down from a challenge and Sherlock’s incessant – insensate – curiosity. Together. Eight times over. 

“Oh.”

In a ‘now that you understand the direness of the situation’ tone, Sherlock asked, “shall I get the slides or will you?”

Christ. Bugger his life.

“How about you gather up the clones and I get the visual aides.”

Sherlock’s face lit up. “My dear, Watson, that’s a splendid idea.”


End file.
